Crafting Perfection
by Madame Poppoff
Summary: He knows he is going to hell for this. He just can't make himself care enough. SLASH RL/DM


He knows he is doing something wrong, he knows he is taking advantage of a boy. Yet he can't stop himself.

This boy should be someone to be loathed, someone he can't stand to look at.

Yet, there he is, all silver eyed, blond haired beauty, sneering at him with that same contempt his beautiful lover had once. He is not Lucius Malfoy's split image. He can easily tell it was Severus who raised this boy.

Maybe it's the moon waxing on him.

Maybe it's the solitude.

But he wants this boy, he needs him.

It is a heady and dangerous convination to put before him. Lucius Malfoy's child, with Black blood on his veins and Severus Snape's teachings. Except for the blond hair, he is the living image of his lost love.

He raises an eyebrow when the little fiend says something insulting, disrupts the whole classroom with his eagerness to prove himself. It is so easy to hand out a detention. So very easy to make sure he will have this boy all to himself. If only for a moment.

The boy sneers and mutters under his breath, but he is a Malfoy, and he knows he will take his detention pridefully.

He is a Malfoy, and there is no other way a Malfoy will do things.

Just as expected he shows up three minutes early, his head held high and his delicate hands clenched tightly onto fists. He doesn't want to be here, yet he will stay.

"You remind me of someone I met when I was a student myself," he says, a little smirk curling his lips as he hands the boy a rag and a cleaning potion, guiding him towards the tall windows with a gentle hand on the small of his back. He is so warm.

"My father, I would guess?" the little blond mocks, rolling his eyes.

"Oh, not really," he answers, pulling the heavy curtains open. "Your eyes and your hair are all your father's, yes. But the way you walk, how you speak, it's almost like looking at your uncle as he was at your age."

The rag drops from his small hand, his wide eyes are reflected on the window.

His startled silver eyes meet his own hungry golden ones.

"You knew... my uncle," he asks slowly, hesitantly.

"That I did, we were quite close for a while, until we decided to take our own separate ways," he whispers, leaning in close to those blond locks and inhaling sharply. Yes, that herbal smell can only come from someone acustomed to Potions like Severus is, this boy is being bred to follow into his godfather's steps whether his father knows or not.

Just like his little love was once.

He can't hold himself back as he literally sees the shiver running down the boy's spine.

A small wave of his wand and those frightened silvery eyes glaze over, and his small body slumps lightly.

The boy is vulnerable now.

His mind an open book for suggestions.

He knows he is doing wrong, his beloved is long dead.

He knows he might get discovered.

But Draconis' mind is not as sharp or as trained as Severus'. He can easily tell from the low level of resistance he is getting. Old Lucius didn't think he would try this on his son.

"Turn around, little one," he whispers lightly and his smile widens when the boy does so. He has very little time. The spell will only leave the mind open to him for a few more seconds. "My Draco, you made such ruckus in class knowing I would give you detention, didn't you?"

"I... did?" the boy asks, his delightfully pink mouth barely moving.

"Oh, yes you did, just as you always do when you want time alone with me, my little lover," he answers gently, letting his fingers caress the boy's cheek.

"Lo... ver..."

"Oh, yes, my Draco, my little lover. I wanted to push you away, remember? When you confessed to me all those months ago, but you were so sweet and so persistent. You kept following me around, begging for my attention. How could I resist such a beautiful boy like you?" he says, letting the hand on that soft cheek move lower, towards the boy's collarbone. "It took you mere weeks to make me fall in love with you."

"Love..."

One of his hands has slipped inside the boy's shirt and is caressing the warm skin underneath gently, letting his calloused fingers bring more shivers of pleasure for his little replacement. The other has taken Draco's small hand and has brought it to his lips, where his tongue is tasting each and every finger separately, memorizing the taste.

"You love me, little one, you begged me to teach you how to please me, and that's what we have been doing this past few months."

"..... of...course," he says softly, his voice steadier, the spell is wearing off. He needs to prepare as Draco comes back to the new reality he has shaped for him.

With practiced ease he removes the boy's robes, tie and shirt, making sure to kiss and suck on every inch of skin he finds in his path. The boy moans softly, his cheeks flushing bright red.

So responsive, so perfect.

As those silver eyes finally clear and his soft back straightens, he holds his breath. It is the moment of truth.

Draco shakes his head, trying to focus, then his eyes land on the older man and a shy smile curls his lips.

"Was I too naughty, Professor?" he asks hesitantly, his eyes lowered coyly.

He shakes his head in amusement, his hands curling possessively around the boy's waist to bring him up.

"Not at all, my love," he whispers as he falls into his chair and pulls Draco to him. The boy is smart and slips easily into his lap, his fingers instantly reaching for his robes. "You were just brilliant."

"I aim to please you," he answers lightly, his small hands already maping his scarred chest, playing with the hair he finds there, almost fascinated by his masculinity.

The stay in silence for a few moments, enjoying eachother's caresses and kisses. The boy is a fast learner. He will give him that.

He soon finds himself sitting on his desk, the boy kneeling before him and eagerly licking at his hardening cock. He knows he is doing something so terribly wrong, so sick. This boy is Harry's age, he is their enemy's son.

He is so beautiful and compliant to him, so sweet.

A shudder courses through him as that soft tongue caresses his sack. Idly, he thinks this is not the first cock his little boy has enjoyed, and a sudden rush of hot jealousy makes him clench his eyes shut. Who dared to take his love? He is a child, he shouldn't know how to do this.

Draco stands back as he comes, his seed splashing his cheeks and hair, making him glitter.

He knows he should feel sick, to have soiled such beautiful hair, but he only feels longing, as those blond locks get wet, they darken and his eyes become clearer with the signs of curiosity.

He gasps suddenly, drawing the boy into his arms and almost crushing him to his chest in his eagerness. His lips devour the pink petals the boy has, his tongue memorizes the way he tastes, the way he curls and moans as he rests on his lap. It only takes him a minute to see those bruised lips and the sweet blush on those cheeks now marred by his essence and he has ridden the boy of his trousers and pants, and that hairless, nubile body is all his.

He can see the shock and the pain reflected in his silver eyes, he knows he has surprised him, yet he longs to ignore his wrong-doings as he hides his face in that pale shoulder and loses himself to the sound of short gasps, little pants and moans and his skin slapping wetly against his Draconis, his Dragon.

He is going to hell for this.

He comes for a second time, gripping the boy's hips tightly and sinking his teeth onto his shoulder. A primal part of him wants to pretend this is a fullmoon night, and that, by biting his lover, he is making him his. His pack, his family, all his.

And magic and mind turn little Draco into a sight to behold. As his spell has convinced his little one that they have been lovers for months, his mind orders his muscles to relax and turn splitting pain into exquisite pleasure and Draco starts riding him with abandon. Mewling softly and wrapping his slender arms against around his neck to support his shaking body before letting his own weight pull him down hard and fast, completely swallowing him in earnest.

A choked moan makes it past his lips as Draco comes and sinks his nails into his skin, and the sting is pushing him into a third orgasm so powerful he knows the skin on his lover's hips will be bruised for days to come, but he can't make himself care enough.

Draco is his now.

Forever.

They spend many nights like this, curled against eachother, dancing their pleasurable dance with only the moon as their witness before the war has to pull them apart.

And he wants to sneer in Severus' face when the man sneers at him as he leaves the school.

Your intrigues have accomplished nothing, he wants to tell him. I have already taken what you love the most. The child you treasure so much, the one you think of as the son you will never have is mine now. I have corrupted his twisted innocence to my whim and he welcomed every second of it.

Yet, he remains silent.

He welcomes Ninphadora to his bed and pretends he is happy when she announces herself pregnant.

He fills his lonely nights with the knowledge that his Dragon is longing for him as well.

Theodore, his son, is born with the same silver eyes of the Black family, and he likes to pretend this child is his retribution. For all the pain that acursed family has brought him, he thinks he deserves his rightful compensation.

Idly he wonders what Sirius would have said, if he saw him now.

He knows the man almost beat him to death the first time, when the one sharing his passion was his little brother. But now Sirius is dead. As gone as Regulus.

And only Draco remains in his heart.

The battles weaken him.

He thinks he is getting old.

Ninphadora cries at him, making him turn as she falls dead. He knows he should feel something other than relief.

He doesn't.

Not even when a small masked figure approaches him and a curse hits him.

He falls limply staring into those silver eyes behind the mask.

He wakes up in a darkened room. His wounds dressed and his head aching.

No hospital, he guesses, or he would be restrained as well. Full moon is approaching.

A pale hand smooths his hair back and relieved silver eyes meet his own.

"Thanks Merlin," Draco whispers softly, his face reflecting nothing but concern. "You've been unconscious for months."

He stares, uncomprehending, and maybe his feelings have reflected in his face, because his beloved smiles gently, kissing his forehead.

"I'm sorry I had to stun you," he says. "I didn't want you to die."

Stunned, he was stunned while everyone around him fell dead.

"Does anyone know I'm here?" he asks finally, his voice croaking. Draco shakes his head.

"I was afraid they would take you away," he answers, his fingers caressing his cheek. "I missed you so much, all these years."

And he can finally see his spell, still active under those silvery pools. The boy is still his.

He knows this is his chance at redemption. He can mutter a simple finite, he can release the boy's heart and let him grow angry, know of his betrayal.

He smiles instead and shakes his head.

"I missed you, my little Dragon," he says simply, guidding the boy to his lap. "I missed you so much."

"I missed you too," the boy whispers, kissing his lips carefully. "I missed you, my Remus."

And Remus knows he has everything he needs between the safe cocoon of his arms. And this time no war, nor Sirius nor Snape are there to make him let go.

Hell, suddenly, is such a sweet price for the perfection he had crafter for himself.

The End.


End file.
